The Gothic Murders
by This is The Phantom Lady
Summary: DI Celia Yellow is desperately trying to solve the case of a serial killer who targets young gothic girls; just like her own daughter. Sherlock Holmes is itching for a case. Celia Yellow is not ready to take the risk of allowing Sherlock to help just yet. And all the while more young girls falls victim of the serial killer. Can she be convinced?
1. Kids

Drip.

It was a cold sound. A harsh sound that brought her back to reality with a jolt. She was slipping in and out of consciousness because of the pain that was ever present and she would rather stay under.

She knew it was over soon. Just not soon enough.

She finally heard the footsteps coming up behind her. She smiled. Her shoulders hurt more than any pain she had ever felt in her life; both had been dislocated from the precarious position he had left her in for hours upon hours.

And there it was. The end. A painful end. A desperate end. She wriggled in her last moments. She might have come to terms with her fate but she still struggled as the cord tightened around her throat cutting off her air supply. Human nature at its finest.

…

The blonde woman in the grey suit dialled the number again; sighing angrily. She was once again met with the rude answering machine.

"Hey leave a message and see if I bloody care"

"It's not funny, You know you've to call me if you stay out late. I worry. Be safe!" She tried to sound calm. It was no use shouting. She had tried that. Goodness knows she had tried that!

The woman looked at the case that was spread out on her desk. Her fingers reached for the coffee cup and she gulped the stale remnants of it down. This would be another long night. Another young woman found naked and strangled. 4 so far. The pictures made her cringe. This reminded her of what made her become a DI back in the day; she wanted to rid the world of the sick and twisted people who did this and put the families of their victims through hell.

They didn't have much to go on though and as she reached for another painkiller to numb her back pain she noticed a yellow sticky note.

"Gothic clothing found". All these girls had been 'Goth Girls' as Lucy, her 17 year old daughter had informed her it was called apparently. Punk chicks, cyber… something? Was a completely different group of people all together. She shook her head and reached for her phone once more.

"Lucy, I don't care what you're doing tonight, just call. I won't be mad" she let the machine know.

"Thought you could do with another" a voice startled her. She was deep in thought going over the sparse victim's profile. They knew even less about their serial killer.

"Thank you, Greg! Can always count of you!" She smiled at the older DI who placed a cup of fresh coffee in front of her.

"Lucy still acting out?" The man pointed with his own cup. She nodded.

"If she knew how many grey hairs she's caused me! She owes me one of her hair dyes by now" She chuckled.

"That's kids for you, and still stuck on your case?" Greg continued his small talk.

"All we know is that he targets young females with a gothic clothing style; he undresses them and ties them up and leaves them for several hours; leaves no trace and none of the girls knew each other" she shrugged her shoulder tiredly.

"Listen, if you want I can get you my best man for that job" Greg lowered his voice.

"I am not going to take that risk!" her eyes narrowed and she took a large gulp of her fresh coffee.

"You know where to find me if you need Sherlock Holmes" he continued to whisper. She nodded and DI Greg Lestrade went back to his office.

"There's been another one" she heard Sargent Donovan say and she swallowed. There it was. That pang of worry. That fear that one day she'd be showing up at a crime scene and it would be her daughter they would cut down from the water pipes.

"Who found her?" She stood up and tried to look professional just as she had done with the last few new victims of this specific serial killer.

"Member of the public; she fits the MO" Donovan informed her. She was already putting her coat on ready to run out of there. The team were underfoot.

…

The long, straight, black hair was the first feature she could make out in the dark and moist cellar under the high school. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"Any trademarks on the body?" She asked the member of the forensics team that came to greet her.

"A tattoo on the wrist and she had her nose pierced" The woman in the blue protective suit explained removing her gloves. "It's our man, DI Yellow, She's been dead at least a day" she let her know.

Tattoo, on the wrist. That was when she had stopped listening. Lucy had a tattoo on her wrist. A lovely little black rose with a drop of blood falling from one of its leaves.

"The tattoo, could you describe it?" Her mouth was dry and it was a struggle to at least look professional. She almost regretted the question. But she knew this was not how she wanted to see Lucy.

"A skull" oh god. Thank god! She caught herself thinking. Then she calmly reminded herself that this was someone else's daughter and she had a job to do. And if she didn't; this wouldn't be the last poor girl to be found. The killer had to be stopped.

"Sweep for witnesses; someone must have seen something!" she instructed. "Bag all of the evidence" she told continued. "We have to stop this" she was fired up.

…

It was morning when Detective Inspector Celia Yellow finally made it home. The flat was silent and empty but there was something that brought a smile to her lips. The cereal bowl by the sink. Normally it would have infuriated her that Lucy couldn't even be bothered to put it in the dishwasher. But this meant that she had been home. Celia could sleep now and she did.

…

"I'm bored, John!" Sherlock Holmes cried out as he stood tall on the coffee table in the mess of a flat that was 221B Baker Street "I need a case!" He was absolutely miserable.

John Watson sat in his chair trying to read the paper. He heaved a sigh.

"Your inbox is full" Watson informed him tiredly.

"I need a real case!" Holmes was resembling a bratty four year old. A tall one though.

"I'm sure something will turn up, but why not distract yourself in the mean time?" Watson put his paper down and found his phone and scrolled through the emails.

"You know what I need?" Holmes bolted off of the table.

"No, what do you need?" Doctor Watson shook his head.

"A serial killer, that is what I need! Call Lestrade, he must have something!" Holmes was practically salivating at the thought.

"This lady says her furniture has been moved every night the past few months" The army doctor was desperately trying to distract the consulting detective who was bored out of his wits.

"Yes, the grandson is looking for the money she's hiding from him in her will; boring!" Holmes crossed his arms across his chest. "Call Lestrade!" he ordered.


	2. Parents

Celia Yellow had barely walked into the station when she was met by Sergeant Donovan.

"I hope you're not thinking about dragging that freak into this whole thing" she snorted. DI Yellow gave her a confused look. "Sherlock Holmes" the sergeant explained. Celia nodded understandingly.

"Wouldn't dream of it" She shook her head. "If you would give me a minute" she pushed through to her desk trying to gather the new information the latest find of the new dead body gave them. The killer hadn't strayed from his method. The only difference was that it was another young girl full of dreams and plans who was no longer alive. The parents had been contacted and were to confirm her identity soon.

"Still no news?" Greg Lestrade nearly made her jump as she was looking at the pictures of the marks on the girl's neck.

"Greg!" she complained and he put a cup of coffee in front of her. "It looks like it was a cord from an old fashion telephone, doesn't it?" she showed the picture to him. Greg shrugged his shoulder.

"I know someone who would know though" his voice lowered again and she knew exactly what he was hinting at.

"I told you no!" she cringed.

"Well you know where to find me if you change your mind. How is Lucy doing?" he looked carefully at her.

"She was home yesterday; didn't get to see her though. She drives me up the wall sometimes!" she admitted. "But it's been like that ever since…" she swallowed. Greg knew the end of the sentence and he put his hand on her shoulder.

"In a few years you won't be able to get rid of her, just you wait and see!" he let her know before he went back to his office. She got herself the first pain killer of the night and went back to trying to sort out the sparse evidence.

…

"You're not going out looking like that!" The father yelled at his daughter who was applying yet another layer of heavy black eyeliner. She poked her pierced tongue out at him.

"Who cares what you think anyway?" She spat at him and out of the door she was, slamming it behind her.

"Kelly!" the old man called out to her angrily. The teenager was not looking back, she had other things on her mind. Little did he know this was the last time he would get to talk to his daughter.

…

"Haven't you got anything?" John Watson was on his phone. "Sherlock seems convinced there's a serial killer about". He spoke in a hushed voice "No, no I understand".

"He's lying!" Sherlock Holmes growled from his chair. "All these young women found dead; it has got to be the same man and even Scotland Yard must have seen that!" he was practically barking at the poor army doctor who had just hung up on Lestrade.

"Maybe but you can't just show up and…" John didn't get further before Sherlock had sprinted to get his blue scarf and wrapped it around his long neck before he grabbed his dark coat and flipped up the collar.

"Coming?" he winked at the doctor who followed him reluctantly.

…

It happened so fast; one minute she was texting a friend of hers and the next she was shoved in a van and driven off. She hit her head as landed inside the vehicle and was knocked unconscious. She didn't even get the chance to cry out.

…

"Oi, Freak, you can't just walk in here!" Sergeant Donovan hissed as the consulting detective as he liked to call himself made his way into DI Lestrade's office.

"I think you'll find I just did" he mocked her. "Graham!" Sherlock Holmes turned to greet the DI with a clearly forced smile.

"It's Greg, and I already told John I've got nothing for you" The older man explained patiently.

"4 girls have died, I know they are linked!" Holmes looked into the eyes of the DI. Lestrade heaved a sigh.

"It's not my case Sherlock" he lowered his voice "And DI Yellow doesn't want your help; trust me Sherlock I've been trying to warm her to the idea but she's not buying" He tried to explain. Sherlock grunted frustrated.

"How stupid is she!" he looked through the glass at the woman in the grey suit and the yellow hair. The brim of his nose wrinkling in frustration. He bolted out of there and half a second later he stood in front of Celia Yellow.

"5 young girls are dead and you do not want my help, why?" his narrow eyes looked through to her soul. He had noticed the fresh evidence on her desk, insinuating yet another victim.

"And you are?" She glared back at him. She did know who Sherlock Holmes was; but this was absurd.

"Is it your daughter you worry for? I can tell you're worried from that slight quiver in your hand and the fact that your eyes keep darting towards your phone. She fits the victims profile, doesn't she?". She stood up as he spoke. Her mouth open and her hand balling into a fist.

"Again, who are you?" she was fuming. He winked at her.

"Sherlock Holmes" he held out his hand to her, politely offering to shake hers.

"I do not need your help; we've got this covered" she held her stance. Holmes rolled his eyes at her.

"Oh you always do" he grinned, pretty pleased with himself. "They were all strangled by a telephone cord" he informed her and this she nodded at.

"Yes, I already knew that" She crossed her arms across her chest. "See, we're doing fine without you".

"The same telephone cord; the curls on it has been stretched over time. The fact that he strangles his victims suggests a crime of passion. The killer knew his first victim quite well I'd say; but I doubt it is one of the 5 you have found so far. He resents these girls for what they remind him of". Sherlock spoke fast and the DI was blinking.

"How?" She was caught off guard.

"But no, you don't need me" Holmes spoke with spite in his voice and walked off.


	3. Breakfast

The girl with long black hair and purple highlights held her phone in her hand and bit into her bottom lip that had been painted black to match her hair and tightfitting dress. She rolled her eyes as she dialled her mother's number.

"Mum…" she spoke tiredly, almost as if the word was physically painful to pronounce. "Can I have an advance on my allowance?"

"Lucy!" Her mother beamed. The girl grunted at that. "Have breakfast with me in the morning and we'll talk about it, all right?". She bit her lip harder.

"Sure, whatever". And she hung up again.

"Is Kelly on the way?" a boy with long auburn hair poked her sides playfully.

"She sent me a text an hour ago, said she was coming" Lucy replied calmly and leaned against the brick wall and lit another cigarette.

…

The female DI tried hard not to show her emotions as her only daughter abruptly hung up on her. Holmes was watching her closely from a distance. She could not let him see her moment of weakness. She couldn't afford that.

She grabbed the profile on the killer. Nothing was certain. It was tempting to ask the consulting detective for help. She did know his success rate. But she knew what people were saying about Greg behind his back and she could not handle that. She couldn't take the risk.

She swallowed one of her pills and washed it down with coffee.

…

She was a deadweight, all knocked out from the blow to the head. That was not part of the plan. He huffed and puffed as he managed to drag her off down the stairs to the basement under the library. He carefully removed her black clothes before he tied the chain around her wrists and hoisted her up; tying her to the water pipe in the ceiling.

There she stood; her eyes still closed and her head hanging limp; titled to the side. She almost looked dead already. But it was too soon. He neatly folded her clothes and put them in the corner before he walked up to her and slapped her face as hard as he could to awaken her.

…

Sherlock and John were forced to return to Baker Street empty handed. DI Yellow was not ready to admit that she needed their help just yet. And Sherlock Holmes was not at all pleased.

He was pacing the floor in impatient circles; remembering all of the pictures and scattered pieces of information he had seen on her desk. He had his fingers on his temples as he was organising everything inside his clever brain. Placing them carefully in his Mind Palace.

John had gone to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"Why would someone hate a group of people solely for the way that they dressed?" Sherlock asked as if John was still in the room with him.

"People generally don't like people who are different" John called out to him as he brewed the tea.

"No, I mean really hate; hate so strong that one would be driven to murder?" Holmes spat and rolled his eyes.

"Religious beliefs?" John wondered as he came back with his cup. Sherlock took it right out of his hands and took a sip.

"You're a saint, John!" he put the tea cup down.

…

"The autopsy report of the 4th victim is here" Donovan said as she dropped it on the table in front of her.

"Thank you, Sally" Celia smiled kindly at the sergeant.

She flipped it through; The cause of death might as well have been a copy paste of the rest of the victims.

There was a cold methodical approach to these murders. One that chilled her to the bone. There was a slight bruising on the arms but the only real sign of violence was the dislocation of the shoulders; which was caused by gravity as they were hung by the hands for what was estimated to be at least 5 hours; barely touching the ground with their toes and then the strangulation that had been terminal. One could only imagine the anguish and fear they would be going through during those last hours before their death.

Why? Why did they have to die? She was getting a bit too emotionally involved and she knew it too well. Her back felt tight and she reached for yet another pill.

She got on her feet and glared at the map with 5 pins placed at the locations the young girls had been found. A new place every time. But always a damp and dark basement with water pipes in the ceiling. There was no clear pattern and it frustrated her beyond words.

…

Morning came before she knew it and she hurried home to cook breakfast for her daughter. She tried not to smile too much at the thought of actually being in the same room with her. It was too rare an occurrence lately. She had just finished plating up when she came in through the door.

"Morning sunshine!" She winked at the black clad young woman who didn't reply. Just sat herself down and grabbed a plateful of pancakes for herself and poured most of the syrup over them.

"Where did you sleep last night, you did sleep?" She was scanning her own daughter; unsure what she was looking for. She couldn't remember the last time she saw her smile.

"Jack's" came the short answer. It pained her to hear that anger that was always present in her daughter's voice. She could still vividly remember her little blonde baby girl running around giggling her head off. So much had changed since Lucy's father had been killed in action in Afghanistan.

"Is Jack nice to you then?" Despite the anger in her daughter's voice she just wanted to hear her talk. A shrug of the shoulder was all she got.

"Can I have the cash then?" The young woman stood up as soon as she had finished the pancakes. She was already on her way out of the door. Celia's heart was aching. She got up and found the packed lunch she had lovingly prepared for her.

"Here, I put some cash in here too; be safe. I love you" She got to look into her daughters grey eyes surrounded by thick layers of black makeup. Lucy shook her head and off she was.


	4. Praying

"Ah, Hello Molly!" Holmes greeted the woman with long brown hair in a high ponytail who was just starting her shift at St. Bart's morgue. She had her hands on a human heart she was about to dissect and nearly dropped it.

She always got so fiddly in Sherlock's presence no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Dammit.

"Might we have a look at Annie Jackson?" he looked at her softly. Molly Hooper put her heart back in the metal bowl and bit into her lip nervously.

"I was instructed to keep you away…" She said, unsure of herself.

"Oh" The consulting detective seemed hurt by the news. "Is that a new hairclip?" he pointed at the butterfly that hugged her ponytail. She knew his methods. He could always melt her. "Come on, no one will know" he winked his green eye at her. Molly held her breath and obliged.

…

Kelly was praying for death, never had she wanted it more than now and that was saying a lot. Where was the man now? How long could he take?

Her shoulders hurt so much; the back of her head was throbbing heavily and her cheeks were hot and stinging from all of the slapping. She was glaring angrily at the open bible on the chair; the only furniture in the barely lit room.

…

Sherlock was examining the bruises and cuts on the body closely; his nose almost touching the cold skin as he was looking through his square magnifier. Molly and John stood back and watched him in action, Molly trying to hide her admiration.

"I was right about the telephone cord" he mumbled "And…" he was gently touching her pale hand. "A metal chain; thin but strong enough to support the weight of the body. It cut through the skin while she was still alive; waiting for him to kill her". He was looking at the dried blood on her wrist.

"You're sure it was the chain? They looked a bit self-inflicted to me" Molly's voice was low.

"No, I knew a girl once who allowed me to examine her self-inflicted cuts; this is definitely from a metal chain; have a look at the erratic lacerations". Molly's eyes widened a little. She never did like to hear him talk about other female acquaintances. No matter what state they were in.

"You're sure the murderer is a man?" John coughed trying to get Sherlock back on track. He knew exactly who Sherlock was referring to and the subject always made him uncomfortable.

"Balance of probability" Holmes replied without taking his eyes off the body in front of him.

"Because he undresses them?" Watson tried. Sherlock shook his head.

"These girls might have been skinny but he would have to use his own force to cling them up like so; besides a woman might have been more prone to resort to physical torture. Remember this killer hates his victims" Sherlock explained. Talking faster than the speed of sound it seemed. Watson had learned to keep up over the years.

"So a man, and he'd have to be quite strong?" Watson offered.

Holmes stopped what he was doing and straightened himself up and hastily removed his latex gloves.

"I need to get to a crime scene" he grunted. "Thank you Molly Hooper" he winked at her and out of the door he was. John straight behind him. Leaving the woman flustered and trying to clear away the evidence of him having been there.

…

Lucy sent Kelly yet another text. Kelly could be headstrong but she had always replied to her texts within minutes. They had a bond those two; and it unnerved her that there had been no reply since last night.

Had she done something to offend her? Of course that had to be it. The silent treatment. She would come 'round soon. It wouldn't be the first time one had misunderstood the other.

…

Celia had not slept at all when she showed up at work; she had tried to hide the dark rings under her eyes with makeup but Greg looked straight through her when he handed her the coffee which had become a ritual by now.

"You look like you need more than coffee" he joked. She gave him a small smile.

"It's just Lucy; she's so angry with me like it's my fault" she quickly took a sip of the magic black liquid trying to supress her emotions.

"Well it's not. She's just a teenager, that's what they do" he winked at her. Obviously trying to help her survive the day of work she had ahead of her.

"I don't even know where she spent her nights this week; a few years ago she was my happy little girl… We told each other everything" She took another large gulp and felt the caffeine slowly take effect. "But at least I've still got my daughter" she nodded at herself, reminding herself of the task at hand. Greg nodded too. She straightened her back and put on her business face.

…

The man finally returned and she turned her head to look at him. So much hate met her in those eyes. He was carefully moving her long hair out of the way and put the cord around her neck. She was shivering. Her phone beeped once again. The man paused for a second before he tightened the cord.

"Ready?" his whispering voice asked her.

"Fuck you!" she managed to say before her throat closed.

…

"When did you last speak with Annie?" DI Yellow was interviewing the sister of the 4th victim.

"She called me in the afternoon; on Monday" The young woman was putting up a brave face. "She just needed a chat; just broke up with her boyfriend you see". She reached for a paper towel despite her eyes not being damp yet. But she knew the tears might come any second. They were never far away these days.

"I'm sorry" Celia said carefully. "Do you think we could talk to him perhaps?" She coughed.

"You don't think he…" The sister's bloodshot eyes were wide.

"Not necessarily. Would there be a reason for us to think he might have had a grudge against Annie?" DI Yellow looked into the eyes of the young woman that had now grown damp.

"Billy was good news for her; I've never seen her as happy as when she was with him. They split as friends though" She was drying her eyes.

"Thank you; I think we better stop here" Celia smiled kindly at the grieving sister and clicked the button that stopped the recording. "We'll catch him I promise" She vowed as she showed her out.

"That won't bring her back though" her voice was cracking and Celia's chest cramped.


	5. Friend

Baker Street had fallen silent; you could practically hear a pin drop. But the silence was soon interrupted.

"Oh yes!" Holmes cheered suddenly after reading a text. John was once again trying to calmly read his paper in his chair. He looked curiously at him. "They've found another!" Holmes had a glimmer in his eyes, genuinely thrilled of the prospect of work. This was something John never got quite used to. John knew what this meant.

"How do you know that? I thought DI Yellow didn't want you on the case?" John didn't seem too convinced and was preparing himself.

"Homeless network John, they're truly indispensable" Sherlock smiled. "If we're quick we can make it there before Scotland Yard!" and the two men were soon out of the door.

…

"Some kids have found another victim" Celia Yellow was informed and she nodded. She was still trying to acclimatize herself after the interview with Annie Jackson's sister and in the middle of tracking down the boyfriend.

People were already scattering to get out of there and to the scene of the crime. She was quick on her feet.

…

"You're so tense" A skinny boy some years older than her and with dark hair whispered to Lucy as they sat on his bed.

"Sorry, it's just Kelly…" She shook her head and looked into his chocolate brown eyes.

"Forget about her" he held onto her chin and kissed her lips softly. "This will help" he opened his hand and revealed a pink pill. Her mouth grew dry.

…

"What do you think you're doing, Freak?" Sherlock was met by an angry Sally Donovan at the crime scene. He had been just a few minutes too late. "This is DI Yellow's case and she doesn't want you here". She crossed her arms across her chest and couldn't hold back her smug smile. Finally a DI with some sense.

"Where is she then?" Holmes appeared unaffected. "Might I have a word with her?" he looked into the eyes of the sergeant who shook her head at him.

"Try and stay out of this for once!" She snorted. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

…

"No" The word was barely audible as it came from DI Yellow's mouth.

"What's that?" a sergeant had heard her gasp. She looked at him softly.

"She's a close friend of my daughters. I know her parents" She took a deep breath steadying herself.

"I can call DI Lestrade and have him take over?" he offered. She shook her head.

"No, don't worry about me" she had her business face on once again. This had to be treated like it was anyone else. She could worry later. She owed Kelly Middleton and the other 5 girls as much.

She heard a grunt as Sally Donovan came in. She looked to her.

"Sherlock Holmes is out there; bet he hoped to make it here before us! The nerve" she was shaking her head. "I've told the crew to keep an eye out not to let him in here".

"Thank you Donovan". She couldn't handle his methods right now and she knew it too.

She forced herself to look at the young girl's face once more before she started giving out orders as to who was going to do what. She was personally trotting around the place hoping the killer had left something behind. She heard the beeping of a phone.

She found it with the pile of clothes and found the message the best she could with gloved fingers.

"Can I crash at yours again?" Lucy was the sender. Celia bit her lip hard

…

Lucy was walking the streets of London. She had left her boyfriend's flat in a hurry. She didn't care that he was using but she couldn't handle it when he was trying to drag her into it.

She dialled Kelly's number. They never called each other but Lucy was getting cold and the streets were getting darker.

"Lucy?" a voice she had not expected answered her.

…

"Mum? What the hell are you doing with Kelly's phone?" her daughter frowned.

"It's a bit of a long story" DI Yellow glanced at the young woman who was still being examined and photographed before they could cut her down. "Go home, now, we'll talk in the morning" She sounded a bit more forceful than she meant to.

"What's going on?" The young girl on the other end sounded more confused than feisty.

"Just go straight home; there's ice cream in the freezer. Don't talk to anyone, just go home" Celia felt her hand begin to shiver and remembered Holmes' words. Yes, of course she worried.

"Jesus mum, fine! But only because I've got nowhere else to be" She could almost hear her roll her eyes before she hung up.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" The sergeant repeated his concern.

"I'm going to stop this no matter what it takes" DI Yellow turned stern and clinched her fist.

…

Holmes and Watson were standing in the shadows watching the police do their work closely. Not a word was uttered between them but John couldn't help but worry for his friend. It obviously pained him not to be involved.

"So, we're going to go in there when they clear off then?" John broke the hour long silence. Holmes nodded.

"Yep. Obviously. They always miss something" his eyes were peeled on the building and his voice was almost mechanical.


	6. Sweetheart

Another black clad young woman, clinging to her faux fur coat, shielding herself from the ever present cool air, was on her way to her 'bed' for the night. If you could call a cold, wet and broken mattress among homeless people that. She stopped dead in her tracks and took a long detour when she noticed the well-known outline of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ahead.

She could swear Sherlock turned his curly head for a brief moment to look in her direction. Perhaps it was just her imagination.

…

Celia had no idea how she made it through the night. It had all become a bit of blur; but she had contacted Kelly's parents and reassured the father they were doing anything in their power to find the sick pervert as he had put it.

They had found nothing at the scene; nothing other than Kelly Middleton; her clothes, her phone and a chair. No DNA traces; nothing. It was almost unreal. Barely even a footprint was left behind.

She was dreading going home and having to break the news to her daughter.

…

Sherlock wasted little time getting into the sealed crime scene once the last officer had cleared off. John felt like protesting when they broke through the taped door but he knew Sherlock too well by now so it stayed inaudible.

Holmes utilised all of his senses. He was looking around the room, sniffing everything, bending down to touch the spot where the tip of her toes had been trying to relieve her shoulders. He got back on his feet, rising to the toes of his own feet to have a look at the water pipe that bore clear marks from the metal chain.

Suddenly he bolted towards the steps, crouched down and took a good look, his fingers carefully touching the dust.

"You said he was strong?" He looked up at the doctor.

"Well…" John had a feeling Sherlock had found evidence of the contrary

"She must have been unconscious, he dragged her down here. It took him a lot of effort; look!" Holmes was pointing at a slight disturbance in the dust that to John that might as well have been from the officers going up and down the stairs. Holmes was in his element and knew better. "He dragged her over here" Sherlock took the same steps the killer would have. "He would have tied her hands here and then…" he rose to his feet. "He threw the chain over the water pipes and dragged her onto her feet and secured it… I don't think she was meant to be knocked out"

…

Celia's hands were shaking as she was trying to prepare the breakfast. She had no idea how Lucy would take the news. First her father and now her best friend. It was not fair. She knocked on her daughter's bedroom door.

"Lucy?" she asked softly "I made breakfast" she heard a groan from within and five minutes later her daughter emerged fully dressed. Once again the girl went straight for the pancakes and emptied what she had left of the syrup.

"Have you seen Kelly lately?" She started gently. The girl looked back at her.

"She's not answered my texts for a while" Lucy had barely chewed her food before she spoke.

"This isn't easy for me, sweetheart, Lucy…" Celia felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed hard. "We found Kelly last night, she's…." she coughed, her voice was dying out. She usually had no problems informing other people of the loss of a loved one.

"No!" The young girl shouted and got on her feet, knocking her chair over in the process. "Don't you dare say it!" she threatened.

"I'm sorry Lucy, I really am" the woman tried to reach out to her daughter but she only took a step back, out of reach.

"Fuck you!" Lucy spat and ran out of there. Celia wanted to run after her. Catch her and hug her tight. Make her believe everything would be all right.

…

The woman never made it to her 'bed' that night. She felt hands grabbing her arms and perhaps it was the confusion of it all when she gasped:

"Sherlock?".

It wasn't though. She got a quick glance at the man before he shoved her into the black van and drove off with her.

…

DI Yellow showed up at work early. She had managed a few hours of sleep; most likely caused by pure mental exhaustion.

She went straight to her desk and continued her search for Annie Jackson's boyfriend, Billy Clarke. Her fingers were twitching. She was making a difficult decision.

"Here you go". Greg Lestrade placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of her. She was chewing on her lip.

"Greg" She looked up at him and heaved a sigh, her voice lowered to a whisper "Get Holmes, I need him" she admitted. Greg smiled at her.

"I will" he nodded at her and sprinted to his office.

…

"Finally!" Sherlock smiled widely at the incoming text. "Coming?" he raised his brow at John who was busily typing away on his blog.

"Coming? What? Where?" He looked to Holmes confused. The detective had a habit of forgetting John couldn't read his mind.

"Bart's Morgue, DI Yellow finally saw sense!" he was smug. He knew she would crack sometime, they always did. They always needed his expertise.

He was already wrapping his blue scarf around his neck and looked to his coat. John sighed and grabbed his own jacket.

…

She was incredibly quiet this one; so accepting of her fate. He barely had to force her down the stairs. She hardly even shivered as he removed her clothes.

As he bound her hands she just looked at him. He swallowed. It was always easier when they were shouting profanities at him. She barely even whimpered when he clung her up. He wasn't sure, but she seemed to be enjoying it even.

"I'll allow you to live on one condition" he took hold of her face and looked directly into her eyes. She looked back at him, taking shallow breaths.


	7. Bible

Molly Hooper smiled at Sherlock as he entered the morgue with John. She was just about to open the body bag Kelly Middleton had arrived in when they came. His timing was always impeccable. She had been informed of the change of status regarding Sherlock Holmes and it did please her. She couldn't deny that.

"Kelly Middleton" she let him know as she finished opening the bag and positioned the body on the slab. Holmes was putting on his gloves and getting his magnifier out; ready to have a look.

"Something's different about her" he said right away and stepped closer to her face. "Look at the marks on her cheeks" he pointed out to Molly. She leaned in as well.

"She was slapped?" She spoke, feeling his breath on her face. She struggled not to blush.

"Yes, He needed her to stay lucid; remember the marks on the stairs, John? She was knocked unconscious when he brought her there." He reminded the doctor. Sherlock turned her slightly and found the bump on the back of her head.

"Why would he need to do that?" John was keeping his distance letting the two of them examine the dead body.

"He had a plan with all of these girls, I don't think he was just out to kill them… He might have given them a choice" he wet his meaty lips.

"Really?" John looked at Sherlock wondering what was going on inside his head.

"He could have killed them right away, but he let them wait. He's on a mission and killing them is only the last resort". Sherlock was removing his gloves again and Molly looked up at him, slightly flustered.

"Don't you want a look at Jennie Taylor too? I think she was the 5th victim". She offered. Anything to keep Sherlock around even if she did know by now that it would never amount to anything.

"Maybe later" he let her know and he was already on his way out. Molly swallowed.

…

Lucy was alone in Jack's flat trying for the life of her to remain tough. She was more sorry than angry but she couldn't let the world know that. She felt hollow inside and had no idea what to do with herself and her emotions.

Jack was at work and she should have been in school. She hated school and especially all of the idiots there and right now that was the last place she felt she needed to be.

…

Celia finally found the boyfriend and her eyes widened as she realized he had known two of the other victims. Hillary Lewis, the first victim and Susie Hall, the 3rd victim, as well. Could it be? They surely had to take him in for questioning.

"It's not always the boyfriend" a voice startled her and she jumped. She looked up to meet a pair of greyish green eyes looking straight at her. Sherlock Holmes. Gosh he was fast.

"Holmes!" she uttered courtly.

"I've had a look at Kelly Middleton and Annie Jackson so far" he put his hands behind his back. She swallowed. "I'm going to need copies of everything"

"Already?" She was trying not to sound too impressed. She did need him but she didn't want to. "And I will make sure you get everything you need"

"Yes, of course. Miss Middleton was knocked unconscious before arriving, did you not notice the marks on her cheeks?" he was looking at her.

"I…" she stuttered slightly and didn't get further before he cut her off.

"I am aware of your connection to the victim, but did you see it? Our killer needs them to stay awake; he has a message for those girls. My bet is a religious fanatic; often girls like these are unfairly mistaken for Satanists" he was talking fast and she swallowed.

"Religious fanatic?" She was trying to keep up with the wake of words that hit her.

"Yes" he replied. "When can I have the copies?" he was standing in front of the map with the now 6 pins marking the crime scenes. His mind was hastily trying to make a pattern out of it looking for possible connecting points.

"They are on their way already. I figured you'd want them…" she stood next to him and looked at the pins as well. "Mr Holmes?" she looked at him instead. He didn't take his eyes off of the map. He seemed so lost inside his own mind. "Promise me you can catch him" it was a moment of weakness and she wanted to take it back badly.

"Oh I will" he spoke minutes later when he was handed a file containing what they had so far. He walked off then but not before he said hello to Geoff; whose real name was Greg.

…

The man was sitting on a chair looking at her. His bible resting in his lap. She was working hard on ignoring the pain from her shoulders as they were slowly working themselves out of their joints.

He turned the page of the holy book and mouthed the words to himself. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip.

…

"Have I made a mistake?" she faced Greg who shook his head at her and smiled kindly.

"You'll have your killer before you know it; Sherlock Holmes is great at what he does. His methods are a bit out there. I'll grant you that. But let him have his way and it'll work out" he put his hand on her shoulder and she nodded.

"Thank you Greg" she smiled at him before eying Sergeant Donovan and called her over.

"I've had to employ Sherlock Holmes" she informed her carefully. "You and I both know it wasn't easy for me so I hope you won't make it any harder" she looked into her eyes. Sally's eyes were narrowing slightly.

"You're kidding me! Him!?" She put her hand on her hips defiantly.

"I can have you taken off the case if it bothers you; last night I had to inform the parents of my daughters closest friend that they lost their daughter and I know my own daughter won't be safe until the killer is brought to justice. Are we clear on that?" Her own stern stand against Donovan surprised herself. The sergeant was blinking. Nodded and walked off. Clearly not happy with the arrangement.


	8. Hope

Sherlock had returned to Baker Street where he found John typing on his laptop. Holmes threw the file on the table and not long after he had plastered the wall with pictures of poor dead women, damp basements, maps, parts of autopsy reports and a list of possible characteristics about the killer.

A smiley in faded yellow spray paint on the wallpaper peaked up under the chronological line of pictures of the young victims.

There he stood now; looking at his work. His eyes darting from one piece of information to the next. Everything was being organized inside his Mind Palace.

…

The man calmly rose to his feet and carefully placed the open bible on the chair. She was scared; she didn't show it though. But she could not figure him out; what was he going to do to her? If only she knew she could prepare herself for the torture.

He just looked at her; his face bearing an expression of both hate but also a hint of pity. The pity made her sick to her stomach.

"When I come back I want an answer" he whispered and then he was gone. The silence that followed was deafening and a tear rolled down her cheek. She knew she couldn't get her hands free and she had lost the will to fight. She just wanted it to be over. No one was coming to save her. No one was missing her.

…

Officers were on their way to pick up Billy Clarke and Celia was spending the time pondering Holmes' theory. Religious fanatic? A priest maybe? What religion? She shook her head. What had he based his conclusion on? The choice of victim? She knew many people had a grudge against people with that particular style and she was already dismissing Sherlock's words. She had to admit not even she was too fond of her daughter's lifestyle choice.

"Mr. Clarke is here" she was told and she was on her way to the interview room where she met a young man about 25 years old dressed in a black shirt and black pants. No piercings or visible tattoos. His hair was short and ginger and his eyes were bright blue. She had somehow expected him to be more out there than this.

"DI Yellow?" he greeted her politely before she even opened her mouth.

"Thank you for cooperating, Billy" she smiled back at him and they both sat down. "Where were you Monday evening till Tuesday?" She looked into his eyes and he swallowed hard.

"I was at the pub with my mates, having a drink and then I went home. I had work in the morning" he explained dryly.

"And your friends can confirm this?" She was studying his face looking for clues. He nodded.

"Of course" his hands were fidgeting slightly. "Is this about Annie?" he looked at her and took a deep breath.

"It is yes. Are you also familiar with Susie Hall and Hillary Lewis?"

"They were friends of mine, a while back, yes" he reached for his tea and took a large gulp and seemed to struggle to swallow.

"Were you romantically involved?"

"No" The answer came a bit too quickly for Celia Yellow's trained ears.

"Are you sure?"

"Susie wanted to, but I knew her father and he would have killed me if he found out" he sighed sadly "We were always just friends". She could tell he was getting a bit emotional.

"And Hillary?"

"Hills was gay, she had a girlfriend. Oh God. Don't tell her parents!" his eyes widened. "I promised her I wouldn't tell…"

"Don't worry" she reassured him.

"Do you know who did it?" His eyes were slightly damp as he looked directly into hers.

"I was hoping you could help me on that one" Celia pushed the box of tissues closer to him.

"Me, how?" his bottom lip was quivering.

…

"We're going to church" Sherlock informed John after an age of silence from him. John stirred and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock's eyes were trained on the map with the 6 pins in it and had been for the longest while.

"Oh right, of course" John said and got up massaging the back of his neck that had grown stiff as he had nodded off.

Sherlock ran to don his famous attire and the two men were off towards St. James. Sherlock was a source of energy; practically waltzing about. He was that contend to have a real case at last.

…

Lucy was torturing herself going through her stored text conversations with Kelly. She couldn't believe it. She was expecting a reply any minute. Just like she still did with her father years later. She couldn't accept it. It was too unfair and seemed all too cruel.

She heard the front door open and knew Jack was home. She put her phone away and stiffened her emotions.

…

Her shoulders had been dislocated for a while now and her sobbing only got louder, echoing against the thick walls back to her. For once she could not stop; she had lost control over herself and the harder she tried to regain that control the harder she cried. She didn't mind the pain. But she felt more alone than ever.

She heard the door creak and the man returned. His footsteps were slow and poised.

"Who do you chose? God or the devil?" there was a snakelike quality to his voice and she shuddered. Her eyes were closed and the tears continued to fall helplessly. She opened her mouth but the words failed her.

"He has taken your tongue, you are truly lost" he moved her long hair out of the way and put the cord around her neck. "I will liberate you, poor soul" he caressed her cheek and she froze.

A glimmer of hope was ignited within her just then. Maybe the one she had been running so far from would save her this time too. Maybe he had always known where she was… maybe… maybe…

The cord tightened around her neck and that was it.


	9. Her

The church was empty and their footsteps echoed loudly. Holmes was looking at the rows, running from side to side. John watched him carefully a step behind him.

"What are we looking for?" he spoke in a low voice.

"Anything out of place" Sherlock sounded almost annoyed to have to explain anything to the army doctor. They both heard a cough as a minister walked in; obviously having heard that someone was in his church.

"Might I help you?" the elderly man wondered. Sherlock took a good look at him before he answered.

"Have you noticed a change in any of your faithful's?" Holmes wanted to know.

"Sorry?" the old man seemed confused.

"Does any of the regular churchgoers seem a bit on edge?" Sherlock was struggling not to let his annoyance show. Why didn't people think?

"Well who doesn't in this day and age?" The minister spoke wisely. Sherlock nodded. Biting into his lip.

"Have anyone confided in you, something you felt might have been a bit strange perhaps?" Sherlock had his hands on his back, still watching the older man carefully making a long list of deductions about everything from his breakfast to his lack of churchgoers.

"I'm really not at liberty to disclose anything of the sort" the minister was calm. Sherlock bit his lip about to lose his patience completely. Just then his phone rang and he excused himself to the man.

…

DI Yellow had just been informed that a staff member at a cinema had found yet another victim and before she rushed out of there she called Sherlock Holmes to give him the address.

She was dreading him showing off around a poor dead girl. Someone's daughter… someone's daughter. No. Wait. She had barely hung up when she called her own daughter. To her surprise she picked up. Oh thank god. Even though Lucy shortly after grumpily ended the conversation; at least it wasn't her.

…

Sherlock was running to the fresh crime scene, it wasn't far from the church and he had an almost goofy grin on his face. Finally a crime scene and not just the sorry leftovers after all the officers had left. This was his chance! Watson followed after, his shorter legs kept him a few steps behind the taller consulting detective.

Holmes gave a disgruntled Donovan a cheeky grin before he entered, donning gloves. Her tension over not being able to stop him amused him beyond words. He just loved toying with her.

But the detective stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw the body hanging there, limp.

"She's not been dead long they say" the female DI informed the consulting detective. He remained frozen.

"Sherlock?" John looked worriedly at him. This was not his usual Mind Palace state. Something was wrong. John was reminded of the Baskerville case.

John took a look at the young woman and his jaw fell open.

"God no" John gasped. He was fighting with his own emotions; feeling everything at once. Pity, sorrow, anger and confusion.

"You know her?" Celia looked curiously at the two men. Sherlock didn't move a muscle. He looked almost like a deer stuck in headlights.

"Sherlock!" John raised his voice trying to awaken the frozen man. Holmes shook his head. John's voice echoing in his mind.

"Mira…" he whispered as he slowly came back to reality. He coughed and tried to get a grip of himself.

"Sherlock do… do you need a break?" Watson was shivering slightly; not only over seeing that particular woman in that state but most of all to see Sherlock react this way. It was almost as if he cared.

"I'm fine John" Sherlock growled and walked over to the young woman. He moved her hair out of the way and looked at her neck. He moved his face close to her skin and sniffed.

"He knows her?" DI Yellow repeated her question as she looked at John. Watson nodded, trying to stay calm himself.

"Yes, sort of…" John didn't know how to explain their relationship. He never really understood it himself and now he understood it even less.

Holmes was now holding a few strands of her hair between his fingers before he took a stroll around her body. He went to the pile of clothes; the first thing he noticed was her black faux fur coat. He was nodding and obviously talking to himself inside of his own head. To the outside world he was almost painfully silent.

"Do you know her family, we will need to contact them" the DI whispered to Watson trying to give Sherlock Holmes peace to work.

"No use, she's not got any" Holmes mumbled as he was going through her clothes.

"Her mother?" Watson remembered.

"Nope" Sherlock shook his head. "Mira already died once remember?" John's eyes narrowed and Celia looked at him confused.

"Sherlock" John gasped. He was not in the mood for jokes. But it was true. She had already been pronounced dead once to the press; the illegitimate daughter of late media mogul Charles Augustus Magnussen.

"The woman didn't even sniffle when I called her after that. So I wouldn't bother" he looked at them and then at the dead woman. "Why her though?" his eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry for your loss" the DI felt she ought to give her condolences. It felt strange though, he was so distant. It was not human.

"I mean why her? She's 26, all the others were teenagers, her coat didn't scream Goth" he kept his eyes on her.

"She does look young for her age" Watson swallowed hard. He felt uneasy looking at her. Sherlock was absentmindedly running his thumb over a raised scar on her pale arm that was littered with scars and cuts, some fresher than others.

"He's getting desperate, almost as if he has a quota to meet" the consulting detective's voice was low. The DI shuddered. "Just the wrong place at the wrong time". He was picking at the stitches on her arm that she had obviously stitched herself.

He peeled his eyes off of her and walked over to the stairs and had a look.

"She followed him down the stairs, he had a grip in her arm but she wasn't struggling. Then again it wouldn't be her style… he sat her down on the floor here" he was taking the same steps; pretending to be holding onto her.

He crouched down and touched the floor where he could tell she had been sitting. "He undressed her and put the chain around her hands. She would have been pretty catatonic". John felt a lump in his throat and coughed. "She was used to being treated like that… I don't think our killer liked that though; he seems to have hesitated". Sherlock continued.


	10. Family

Holmes and Watson cleared off soon after when Sherlock claimed to have seen enough and said he would have a better look at her at the morgue and was sure he could come a lot closer.

Celia Yellow was shaking her head at the scene she had witnessed. She couldn't make sense of it; he was way too strange for her. That much was clear. But he did seem to have some insight. If he was right the next victim might not be far away. Her heart beat was fast and she knew she had to do what she could.

She got her pills from her jacket and swallowed one, cleared her throat and watched the forensic team secure what they could from the young woman. No hope of as much as the slightest fingerprint, obviously. Too much to hope for.

She was though somehow and in a forlorn way happy that this girl had no family she would have to contact. It was a horrible thought though. For some reason she caught herself gently striking her pale cheek before they closed the body bag. Possibly her mother instinct kicking in.

…

Lucy couldn't fall asleep that night, she was lying in Jack's arms but her head was full of way too many thoughts. Had she been at fault somehow? What did her mother mean exactly that they 'found' Kelly? She did know what her mother did for a living… her best friend had not only died. She had been murdered…

Her hand balled into a fist but she tried hard not to wake the man lying next to her. She wasn't in the mood for his needs and he didn't even know what had happened.

…

Holmes was pacing the floor in small, fast paced circles; his lips moving mumbling inaudibly. Watson stood in the corner observing his friends eccentric behaviour rubbing his chin. It was nothing new for him to be like this; but this time it worried the good doctor. Sherlock hadn't been quite the same since he met the young woman many months ago.

The longest while later he got his wallet out and found a small photograph that he then pinned to the wall next to the pictures of the other victims. Mira Jensen was now part of the statistic.

"You have a picture of her in your wallet?" John's eyes were wide as he looked at the back of his curly head.

"Yes, I had…" his voice was a low whisper as he was glaring at the row of 7 photographs.

"Why?" John heard the slight passive aggression in his own voice "Why would you?" he took a step closer. Needing to see the picture in question.

"Does it matter now?" the tall man barked back, his eyes trained on what had become his info wall on this particular case. Watson's silence told him it wasn't answer enough for him. A few minutes later Sherlock finally explained. "I would need a picture to show my homeless network; she kept changing her name. She was good; she almost escaped me a few times…" his green eyes zoomed in on her picture. John was glaring at it as well.

"You knew where she was?" John was dumbfounded. How dared he?

"Of course I did, she was good but not that good; sleeping among the homeless… they work for me, remember" he smiled at the army doctor who swallowed hard, struggling internally not to break down. For months he had been so worried about her and what faith she might have met. Why was Holmes such a sodding dickhead about this?

"And you let her?" The tension was fairly visible in Watson's stance. Sherlock shook his head at him. Sentiment right there. Useless.

"I was going to step in eventually, she needed a break" he glared at his friend. Watson drew a deep, sharp breath.

"6 months of sleeping rough" John's hands had balled into fists. "She was vulnerable!"

"Strong!" Holmes retorted, almost childlike.

"No, we're not doing this again… forget I even brought it up" John drew a sigh of defiance. It wasn't going to help the poor soul now. "I'll leave you to it" Watson was off to bed.

Sherlock took a step closer to the picture that had been sitting in his wallet for 6 months, he put his hand on it; looked into her eyes and whispered to her:

"Why you?" and in that same moment he invited her back into his precious Mind Palace.

…

The man's eyes narrowed as she was walking towards him. Her black dress flowing behind her. She looked like she had stepped right out of the 19th century. The voice in his head was spitting; telling him what a Satanistic whore she was; waltzing about like that; dragging others into her Satan worshipping cult. She had to be stopped. Her soul could still be saved.

He grabbed her arms hard and she cried out; shocked. He pushed her into the open van aggressively. The voice barking even louder to him.

…

Celia returned to her desk after having slept and refuelled at home. She would have preferred not to but she had to in order to function. She knew they had to do all in their power.

She believed Sherlock's words when he had told her the murderer was desperate. Her phone chimed soon after she had arrived. Holmes was texting her.

"Killer might return to St. James. -SH" Her brow furrowed and she looked to the map and realized the church was right in the middle of the 7 pins. She soon after sent officers to the church to talk to the minister and set up a surveillance plan to record who used the church.

…

He opened a door and there she stood in front of him. Alive and as well as she would have been when she was. She looked at him nervously and Holmes took a deep breath.

"Why you?" his eyes zoomed in on her. She was digging her fingers into the skin on her arm. She blinked. He shook his head. Why wouldn't she answer? It was his damned Mind Palace!

"Answer me!" he turned stern, barking at her. She shuddered. She was suddenly holding on to a riding crop. His. He shook his head harder.

"Tell me what he did to you" he walked closer to her. She stayed where she stood. Transfixed. Offering him the riding crop. "What did he say? Mira answer me!" he was now standing right in front of her. Her bottom lip quivered. He rolled his eyes and took the riding crop from her cold hands.

He began beating her the best he knew how. She smiled even wider at each hit that landed on her pale skin.

"I was walking down the street and I took a detour" She spoke softly as the riding crop now rested down Sherlock's leg.

"I know, I saw you" he whispered to her and she closed her eyes.

"I was taken…" she started sniffling again and he let her see how he tightened the grip on the handle of the riding crop. It seemed to calm her.

"Why did he choose you?" he helped her on.

"It was dark…"


	11. Feelings

Two officers were stalking the church night and day, everyone who had been in touch with the young victims shortly before their untimely deaths were taken in for questioning, autopsy reports were re-read and Molly Hooper the pathologist who had performed most of them was called to give her opinions once more. Scotland Yard was a busy beehive of activity and everyone could practically hear the clock ticking.

…

The man's hands were twitching as he heard her beg for him to leave her alone when he was removing her clothes. It seemed harder this time somehow. The voice in his head was louder than ever before and it seemed so distracting.

"Please don't, I… Please!" she sobbed as he was struggling with unhooking her corset. She froze completely as his hands worked on removing her skirt and then her underwear leaving her naked on the clammy and grimy floor. She was shaking violently as he bound her hands.

"Let me go, please" her eyes were wet and the makeup she was wearing was running down her cheeks. She was reduced to a sobbing infant. "I won't tell anyone, I promise… please" she continued to plead as he hung her from the water pipe.

…

Holmes' Mind Palace session ended abruptly at the voice of his landlady, Mrs. Hudson.

"My wall!" She shrieked and Sherlock groaned. He had her on a semi-permanent mute. Why could her silly attachment to the bloody walls take him right out of it? Not like this particular wall was even in a good state… bullet holes, spray paint and what not had damaged it over the years.

"I'm trying to work!" he looked at her with annoyance painted on his face. She shook her head and smiled.

"I know, must be good to be back at it! Ooh you have a picture of that sweet girl there". Mrs. Hudson pointed to the wall she had been so concerned about before. "What was her name again?". Sherlock was rarely in the mood for her goings on, this time he couldn't stand for it.

"Mira Jensen, she's been murdered. If you'll excuse me!" he pointed at the door, wanting to be left alone. The elderly, kind lady turned white as a sheet.

"Such a shame, and she seemed so fond of you too" She knew when to leave him alone and dashed off. Sherlock was re-entering his mind palace but couldn't find Mira anywhere. He was searching high and low.

…

Not long after he had left the damp basement he made it to St. James Church. He was shivering as he kneeled and began praying for God to have mercy upon the poor misled young woman.

The voice was almost instantly turned down to a whisper as he entered the building. He gasped a sigh of relief.

…

The minister had nothing to add and the people who were photographed and recorded entering and leaving the church didn't seem out of place, if only they had something to go on, anything… not even a strand of hair did they have.

Celia Yellow grunted as she added the newest victim to the profile. She found herself nervously awaiting Molly Hooper's report as soon as she would be finished in the morning, and even more so what Sherlock Holmes could add to it. If he could? She knew how much she struggled seeing her daughter's best friend… but then again, Holmes certainly wasn't most people.

…

Sherlock's hands were shaking as he got the old shoebox out from under his bed. He was internally cursing his body's betrayal and only nearly managed to stop the shaking as he heard the items inside the box rattle. He brought it to his kitchen; or rather his lab. Especially when he was on a case. He opened it and sat himself down as he carefully placed the items on the little table space that was left among his mess.

A vial of blood, a phone, a note, a high heel in pink leather, a purple plastic hairbrush, an old teddy bear, and a rusty razor blade in a zip bag. His hands began shivering again as he looked at the items lined up before him. He hadn't looked at them for 4 months now. They were hers, Mira's, and he had collected them after she left him so suddenly only leaving a note telling him not to look for her. Which he of course did… and yes he found her but he couldn't make himself contact her or make it known that he kept tabs on her. Not after what happened.

He didn't hear John coming down, wanting a glass of water as he, too, couldn't sleep. John leaned against the sink as he drank his water; watching his friend carefully.

"Are those her things?" John's voice was rusty and that along with the slightly puffy eyes and the red mark on his cheek which was from a nervous tick also known as self-comforting. Sentiment, something Holmes had always been strongly against. It was good for nothing. Told Sherlock John had been crying.

"Yes" Sherlock's voice was lower than he intended.

"Are you okay?" John stepped closer and put the glass down.

"Yes" Sherlock repeated his previous answer in the exact same tone. "You seem to care an awful lot though" his greenish eyes looked up at his friend, again making his deductions "You're the one who's been crying so I suppose I should be asking you?" there was a spite and a distance in his voice.

"I'm not the only one, mate" John's face softened as he swallowed. He looked directly into Sherlock's wet eyes.

In that second Sherlock felt it and it infuriated him. He was wiping his cheeks with slightly shaky fingers; his face contorting in disgust. John handed him a tissue and he ripped it out of the doctor's hands and dried his eyes furiously. Water softly trickling down his pale cheeks from his eyes, dripping onto the table. What in the bloody hell was going on?

"I got some of the dust in my eyes, I've been successful at hiding this box from Mrs. Hudson…" he dismissed the cause of the waterworks. Most of all to himself. This didn't happen. This was not him. Had he been drugged? Was he ill? His mind was going into overdrive trying to find a likely cause.

"Mira is dead, Sherlock, you're having an emotion" John told him walking over to him "This is normal, it's part of the grieving process" he now stood right next to the world famous consulting detective who was shuddering, cringing and still had tears in his eyes.

"Normal…" Sherlock grunted, the brim of his nose crinkling in frustration.

"Come here, you machine" John had used that word before but this time it was a soft, caring chuckle from him as he opened his arms. Sherlock looked at him confused. "I know I need a hug after today, it's going to help stop the tears" John was careful as he said this. He understood Sherlock's reservations and boundaries but he also knew he needed a friend right now.

Sherlock reluctantly got on his feet slowly, still shivering as he let the shorter man put his arms around him. He wanted to push him away somehow. Hugs. Oh how he hated that gesture of sentiment. But he was desperate, he wanted the water to stop running down his cheeks. It had to stop!

He closed his eyes and felt John practically cling to his taller frame, gently rubbing his back.

"I think it's enough now…" Sherlock whispered and patted John on the back. John was reluctant to let go but he did out of respect. Sherlock's tears had stopped at last.

"Mira hated hugs too" John bit into his lip. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open as he glared straight into John's.

"You hugged her?" he snapped

"Well, yes… but not like that" John Swallowed. "I thought you had figured that out, about the hug by the way… Thought you'd seen it on her dress or my shirt or something…" John was still smiling softly at his best friend.

"You had feelings for her" Sherlock tilted his head.

"I was worried about her, as a doctor and as a human being. She was in a bad way" the army doctor shrugged. "How did you feel about her? Or should I say think" he rephrased himself. He knew Sherlock wasn't a fan of feelings…

"She was an asset" he let him know dryly.

"I think it was a bit deeper than that" John was treading the ground carefully

"Are you… jealous?" Holmes frowned. John gasped.


	12. Envy

Molly Hooper started her shift early and stretched her entire being, hearing the cracks of her spine as she entered the morgue. It was dead silent in there as she was the only living soul.

She found the latest victim and carefully laid her on the slab, preparing her for the examination. Molly found herself procrastinating and taking her time with the external investigations. She was hoping Sherlock would burst through the doors and take over soon. Oh how she longed for company. His company to be precise.

…

Lucy scrambled out of the bed and decided to get dressed for school. She checked her phone just before she left her boyfriend's flat. Her boyfriend was still fast asleep in the bedroom. No messages. Odd. She always woke up to several messages. But most of those had always been from Kelly.

Her stomach was in knots. She felt full and empty at the same time. Her entire being felt hollow and she couldn't stop feeling like she was all alone in the world. Entering the gate of her school she did hear a few people calling her name but it never registered. Upon seeing the empty seat next to hers in the classroom she bit into her lip and ran out of there without any clue of where she was going to end up.

…

DI Yellow's fingernails were tapping impatiently against her coffee cup as she was waiting for Molly Hooper to phone in with her views of the latest dead body. Her eyes were scanning the latest surveillance reports from the church and she nearly spilled the coffee as a kind hand rubbed her tense shoulder.

"How's it going?" Greg's kind eyes smiled at her as hers met his. She just shook her head and sighed in reply "That bad, eh?" he raised his brow. "Is Sherlock any help?" he sipped his own coffee. Celia bit her lip.

"I honestly don't know" she got on her feet and took another good look at the info wall. "Turns out he knew the latest victim" she was looking at the picture of the young woman; her head tilted to the side and her pale face looking somewhat peaceful.

"Oh" Greg scratched the back of his head and took a close look at the picture. "I've seen her before" he put his cup down.

"Who is she?" Yellow asked, surprised and intrigued to finally get a straight answer.

"She's already died once though…" the DI's eyes widened "And I even spoke to her… She was Sherlock's uh… how do I put this delicately, she worked for him" he coughed as he tried to explain their connection, the way he knew it at least.

"Worked? How did she work for him?" Yellow's brow furrowed.

"She was a working girl apparently, I don't know… who the hell knows when Sherlock Holmes is involved… but she died 4 months ago, overdosed, Holmes found her. Apparently she turned out to be the daughter of Charles Augustus Magnussen" Lestrade shrugged his shoulder and went back to his own office, leaving the female DI with more questions than answers.

…

Molly jumped slightly as she heard footsteps and muffled voices outside the doors. She knew those voices and they made her smile.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Shut up John!"

Molly's ears were perked trying to listen in on their conversation before they barged through the door. Sherlock first and John right behind.

Holmes' barely acknowledged her presence and she couldn't deny that hurt feeling in the pit of her stomach as he went straight for the dead girl on the slab.

The tall man bowed down and sniffed Mira's neck, softly moving her hair out of the way. Molly had seen him handle almost as many dead bodies as herself but there was something different with the way he treated this one. And she didn't like it one bit. He donned gloves and opened her mouth and looked at her teeth.

"I want a full report of the stomach content" he straightened up again, never taking her eyes off Mira, but speaking to Molly who nodded. Still trying to put a finger on this whole thing. John kept to his usual place when they were at the morgue, in the back simply observing , this time more than ever observing his friend. Worryingly.

"She was sure we would never meet again…" Sherlock spoke, mostly to himself and his own mental notes as he examined her naked cold torso. He was tracing a newly formed scar in the shape of an S on her breast, now a matching pair to the A on her other.

"S and A, what does that stand for?" Molly bravely chirped in, her own silence strangling her.

"The A was one she carved after Irene Adler kicked her out… breaking her heart in the process" Sherlock calmly explained pointing to the A, while his finger was still tracing the S.

"Miss A…" realization finally hitting Watson, he had never made the connection before now. Of course. Of bloody course.

"And the S?" Molly was scared to ask. She had a feeling the answer was going to hurt her. Damned feelings. She had spent so long trying to get over her feelings and longing for the consulting detective.

"Sherlock" he shrugged his shoulder and let go of the pale skin and continued his thorough search of every inch of Mira Jensen's body.

"So, she knew you?" Molly's smile was clearly forced and the edges of her lips twitched. This was the second time this had happened over a dead body and it didn't get any easier.

Holmes remained silent as he returned to her neck and was feeling the deep marks made with what he was sure was a telephone cord. Letting Molly's question go unanswered.

"She wasn't struggling, not even when he cut off her air supply, he was hesitating though…" for the first time he took his eyes off of her and looked at John who nodded uncomfortably. The army doctor was trying to make himself believe it was any other dead girl. "She is so far from his profile, why didn't he stop?". He was asking himself but his eyes were still locked on John's.

"She would have reported it?" Watson tried his best to come with an answer. Sherlock shook his curly head.

"You knew Mira as well, he could have threatened her to silence easily, or at least he would have thought he could" the detective explained.

"I thought you said she was strong" John bit the inside of his cheek. He knew what he had started. Molly was looking curiously at the two men.

"Oh she was, but she even fooled you to believe she was weak and needed help" Holmes' eyes rolled sarcastically.

"She did, but Sherlock let's not go there" John calmly informed his friend. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"I think he's got a voice in his head controlling him" Sherlock suddenly mumbled, bending down taking his magnifier out as he pushed the dead girl onto her side and took another good look at her marks on the back of her neck. "It's as if he had a battle with himself, one hand was tightening the cord while the other was trying to loosen it".

"So, we're looking for a man who is unstable, possibly schizophrenic?" John's mouth was dry as he could not take his eyes off of her face.

"Yep, Schizophrenic and ultra religious, very dangerous combination" Holmes said as he carefully laid the young woman back down on the slab. Almost lovingly rearranging her hair. Molly's hands were shivering and she was chewing on her bottom lip. Yes. She was jealous. "I'm going to need that report on her stomach content, text me" his steely green eyes looked sternly into Molly's and out of the door he was. Watson right behind. Leaving the pathologist flustered once again. Alone with the body of a young woman she so envied despite her state.


End file.
